Well people of Lanteland...I have completely lost my mind. I've decided to try a short fan fic...sort of a one shot. This is not an ongoing story. Since Dante likes to think about "what if" so much, I thought I would help him out and show him what life would be like with Miss Barrett. I guess in my own convoluted mind, this is therapy for me. I have never written a thing in my life, so don't expect much. Warning to any Brenda fans...you might want to stop reading NOW. I have so much to do before Christmas, sorry for the shortness, and I don't know how much I will get written. And don't worry...Lulu will make an appearance.
The firetrucks woke him up. Again. No matter how many years he lived in Rome, he couldn't get used to the sound of the Italian sirens. It wasn't like living back home in Bensonhurst where he didn't even notice the street noise. Those NYC sirens lulled him to sleep and made him feel connected to the city like a root to a tree. They were a memory from his childhood and a soundtrack to his years as a New York City cop. Those days were long gone.
He opened his eyes searching for the bedside clock. The room was total blackness, but he knew that was because of the darkening shades his wife had custom built into their bedroom. Sometimes he felt like she was a vampire, up all night to do a show or a photoshoot, and then sleeping the daylight hours away. After glancing at the time on the clock which was 5:47 am, he laid his head back down. He had woken up in the middle of the bed again. Was this normal for a married man? Wasn't there supposed to be some reverence for his wife's side of the bed? Dante tried to remember the last time she actually slept in that bed with him. He knew he would see her later today, but that was only because it was Christmas Eve. She was returning from Paris where she had been working on her new fashion line. They argued over her coming back home for the holidays because Brenda had wanted them to meet her in France for Christmas. He stood his ground and won the argument this time.
There was no way in hell he was going to drag their son away from home on his Christmas break. It was bad enough the kid lived at boarding school nine months out of the year. Even though Dante's name was on the birth certificate, he didn't have much say in the little boy's life. Of course if it was up to him, Stefan would live with them and go to a school nearby. He would love to walk his son to school every day and play ball at the park. Brenda professed boarding school was the best thing for Stefan. It was what people in her family did. It was a great education and learning experience, or so she told them. Dante heard what she said, but couldn't help but think it was partially her way of keeping him and Stefan apart. The boy had never been close with his mother, and it wasn't for a lack of trying. It didn't help that she would have little to do with him for the first year of his life. She said she couldn't look at the child when she knew his biological father's death came from her own hands. Dante knew she had always been jealous of their bond. From the day he was born, Dante was the one who fed him, who rocked him to sleep, who triumphed over his first steps, and who comforted him when he was upset. He could see past the resemblance to the father, and love the child within, who never asked to be brought into this world under such horrible circumstances.
Dante pulled himself from his melancholy thoughts and made his way across the cold stone floor to the bathroom. There was no warmth to this house, not the kind of warmth the sun brings, but the warmth of a family home. Over the years he had noticed the glaring omission of family dinners, and time spent with loved ones and friends. Oh they had friends, if you wanted to call them that. Brenda's friends were the cream of the crop in the fashion world. They were at her beck and call when she was at the top of her game, and shallow backstabbers when the next "it" face came along. His friends were people she didn't have anything in common with, or so she said. As the hot water streamed over his tense muscles, Dante realized they were two people living separate lives.